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Crossfire (logan howlett x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader Word Count: 6.8K Rating: E

Summary: You, a member of Team X, find yourself growing disillusioned with the team's ruthless methods and long for a life of peace and simplicity. You’ve fallen for Logan but fear asking him to leave with you, believing he would choose to stay with his brother.

Warning: origins!logan, mutant reader, friends with benefits / situationship, the fic literally starts with logan fucking you in a bar bathroom (oops), semi-public sex, dirty talk (filthy logan), light oral sex (f – receiving), unprotected p in v, language, flashback and descriptions of explicit smut, descriptions of violence, mutual pining (idiots in love), angst, terrible miscommunication, pet names, flirting, feelings, smutty discussions (and logan always whispering filth in your ear)

A/N: This is my submission for my own Loveuary Challenge also hosted with @lubdubology. I’m kinda scared to be posting this because I haven’t posted a Logan fic in forever. I swear I’m alive. Thank you to @pedroscurls who pushed me to finish this story (that I started in November) and provided words of encouragement.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging thots.

+ Logan Howlett / Wolverine Masterlist

Lagos, Nigeria

"Watch how good you look takin’ my cock," Logan ordered, his jaw tightening as he continued to fuck into you from behind and pushed your sensitive breasts into his hands.

The team had found a bar to grab some drinks at; it all happened in a flash. Suddenly, Logan had shoved you into a bathroom, hiking up the hem of your skirt to push your lacy panties down to your ankles. He fell to his knees on the dirty floor and buried his face between your thighs, moaning into your pussy as soon as he tasted you.

"Logan!" you whined with your eyes rolling into the back of your head. He ran over your clit with his nose before continuing to drag his tongue between your folds, licking and sucking at you furiously. It wasn’t even a minute in, and you could feel your orgasm building.

"I—" you threw your head back as he hungrily continued to lap and suck at your hole. "I want you to be inside of me when—I—"

But it was too late; his talented tongue made you come in a matter of moments, as you thrashed around and screamed out his name.

"Good fuckin’ girl, you taste so sweet," he talked you through it with murmured words and continued praise. You shuddered. It had been two weeks since you had last felt him, and while you appreciated that he had made you feel good, you needed to feel the stretch of his cock more.

"Pl—ease, I need you inside of me now,"

He could sense your desperation as he gazed up at you, rising to his feet and turning you around so you would face the mirror. You heard the jingle of his belt and the sound of his jeans being unzipped, and your eyes locked with his in the mirror as he plunged inside your slick cunt, commanding you to watch in the mirror as he took you.

You looked completely insane, watching yourself as he had you completely impaled on his cock. Your mascara had begun to run, leaving dark smudges beneath your eyes, and the corners of your mouth curled into a satisfied smile, while a few strands of your hair were sticking to your forehead. His pace was unrelenting and hard, and he shoved your top up so he could watch your tits jiggle. His hand ran up your back as he grabbed your hair in his hand, pulling you up roughly until your back was flush against his.

He licked your mouth from the side, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. You responded instinctively, tilting your head to meet his tongue, tangling messily in between your shared moans. You pulled away, foreheads resting against each other, eyes locked and then he pressed you forward until your hands landed on the bathroom sink. Logan pulled out halfway and then slammed back into you, filling you to the absolute brim, as you choked on your own gasps, your body jolting forward with every devastating thrust.

As you looked into the mirror, his hazel eyes were dark and filled with primal desire while his hands gripped your ass and hips, squeezing hard. His usually sharp, focused brows were slightly furrowed, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Let me hear you, baby. I know you can take it hard," he let out a low groan, leaning in to press his mouth against your shoulder, and you could feel the soft flick of his tongue against your skin.

"Don’t fucking stop—you feel so good. Logan. Please. I need—" your voice broke on the last word, and you could hear the lewd wetness of your pussy filling in the tiny bathroom.

You were so fucking close. Your breathing became erratic, and he could feel it; he always knew when your walls were about to clamp down on him.

"Come on, baby, give it to me," he gritted out through clenched teeth as you rocked your ass against him more. "This tight little pussy feels so fuckin’ perfect," You could tell he was struggling to keep it together.

"Oh fuck!" you cried out, and you gripped the sink with dear life as he continued to slam into you, your vision becoming spotty.

"Come for me right now," he gasped, clenching his eyes shut. You nodded frantically, and suddenly, white-hot stars exploded behind your eyelids as you came with a hoarse cry, barely able to see straight as he fucked you through it. He could feel you constricting tightly on him, which caused his end, and you felt his spend spill inside of you, while hearing a filthy groan escape his lips.

"That’s it, you did so well, so fuckin’ good," he cooed, continuing to pump the last of his release deep into your cunt. Your head fell back on his shoulder as he kissed your neck, taking your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, and tugging at them as you came down from your high.

"Mmhm," you nodded dumbly as he slipped out of you.

"Damn baby, you made me make a mess," he drawled, grabbing a paper towel to clean up your combined releases from between your trembling legs. He shuffled back, tucking himself back into his jeans.

Logan murmured your name as he pulled you in for a quick, yet incredibly delicate kiss on your lips. "I’ll leave first, okay?"

"Okay," you paused, seeming to search for the proper words to say before continuing. "I need to make myself more presentable anyways," you said, ducking your head shyly.

He chuckled softly, then grinned at you, before pulling you in for a searing kiss and stepping out of the bathroom.

As you bent over to pull your panties up, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had to give. The more you and Logan shared intimate moments, the more you craved understanding what it all meant. Maybe Logan didn’t think you were ‘girlfriend’ material. You had just fucked him in some dingy bar bathroom—it wasn’t exactly romantic.

Maybe he would never see you as anything more than just a friend—that he sometimes fucked.

It happened almost a decade ago, when your powers were first discovered.

You were in university, and it was supposed to be just another day in the physics lab. In a moment of distraction, a surge of energy erupted from within you, you felt it before you saw it—a violent tug that pulled everything in the room toward you. Papers flew off desks, glass beakers shattered, and a blinding light engulfed the room. You tried to regain control, to rein in the force that was spiraling out of your grasp, but it was too late—as the world around you erupted in an explosion of glass and metal.

The lab was swallowed by a whirlwind of debris and the high-pitched wail of the alarm piercing through the chaos. Your classmates screamed, ducking for cover as the room was engulfed in flames. The sheer intensity of your abilities was overwhelming, your hands trembling at the realization of what you had accidentally done. The lab was in shambles, the pieces of equipment scattered like fallen leaves.

The story of the 'explosive mutant' had reached the university administration, and they wasted no time in their response.

'Expulsion' they declared, the word hanging in the air like a death sentence. The finality of it was suffocating.

When your parents discovered this, they didn’t let you come back to live with them. They had never been supportive of your powers since you discovered them at 10 years old. They disowned you and it was a decision that felt like a betrayal, a rejection of the child they had raised.

You ended up working at a casino for a couple of years, where you were barely scraping by, counting cards and trying to stay under the radar. One evening, as you were finishing up your shift, your future boss Remy LeBeau approached you with a proposition. "Angel, you got skills, but this place ain't gonna pay you what you're worth," he said. "I run a club down in the Quarter. We could use someone like you behind the bar. Pays a lot better than this joint, and you won't have to keep looking over your shoulder." His offer was tempting, and the promise of better pay and a bit of stability was hard to resist.

So, you took a leap of faith and joined his strip club—not as a dancer, but as a bartender, pouring drinks for slimy men. You felt protective of the girls and would use your powers to create an invisible barrier that kept the dancers safe from overly eager men. It was a subtle art, a flick of your wrist or a focused thought, and the effect was immediate and disorienting for them.

When Stryker recruited you about eight months ago in New Orleans, you knew that he saw you as a piece of ass with a unique mutation. You were just a tool—another weapon in his arsenal, and you were the only woman on the team, so you reluctantly took on the role of the 'seductress' whenever it came to missions. You learned how to distract, how to manipulate, and how to play into the desires of men. But with each interaction, you felt a piece of yourself slip away.

All the men on the team had hit on you except Logan. However, they knew not to mess with you because of your mutation. You had a gravity mutation—you could control gravitational forces, allowing you to increase or decrease gravity in a localized area. You could make others feel crushingly heavy or light, disrupt their movements, or even create gravity wells to trap them.

The first and last time Agent Zero grabbed you inappropriately, you increased the gravity around him, making him feel as if a ton of bricks had suddenly fallen on him. He dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, unable to move. The other men watched in shock as you calmly walked away, leaving Agent Zero struggling under the immense weight.

After that, none of the men ever hit on you again.

Life on Team X was a whirlwind of missions, adrenaline, and constant movement. The nature of your work kept you on the road for weeks at a time, darting from one location to another with hardly a moment to catch your breath.

Sharing cramped quarters in various locations and makeshift camps didn’t really allow time to develop personal relationships, let alone the cultivation of anything resembling intimacy. The men often sought solace in fleeting encounters with women they met along the way—strangers who could provide a momentary distraction. You watched as they engaged in one-night stands and listened as they traded stories.

Logan had always been different from the other men on the team. He carried an air of mystery about him, and while the other men on Team X wore their escapades like badges of honor, Logan remained tight-lipped. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been fucking other women, but he never spoke about them. It wasn’t that he lacked interest; you’d catch him glancing at women from time to time, his gaze lingering longer than what would be deemed casual. But whenever the topic came up and the men asked him about it, he’d deftly change the subject or offer a sly grin, redirecting the conversation without revealing anything.

You found yourself drawn to him, not just because of his insanely good looks, but because he saw you for who you were—beyond your powers and the persona you were forced to adopt. The others often made crude jokes or pushed boundaries, but Logan never crossed that line with you. He treated you as an equal, a teammate rather than an object.

One day, everything changed between the two of you. It was a mission in Argentina gone awry, the kind that left everyone on edge. Later that night, after the mission had concluded and the adrenaline of the day began to fade, you found yourself back at the makeshift camp. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and sweat, and the distant sound of the city buzzed in the background. The team had dispersed, seeking their own forms of release from the stress, but you remained at the campsite trying to process the day’s chaos.

Logan emerged from the shadows surprising you since you thought he had joined the men at the bar, and as he approached, you could see the sweat glistening on his brow. Your heart raced at the sight of him, and the intensity of his gaze as he locked eyes with you. It was as if you both realized you were alone together for the first time ever.

One thing led to another, and he cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours. You felt a cold drop of rain fall on your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You realized it had started drizzling, and feeling the coolness of the rain mixed with the warmth of his embrace created a sensory overload for you.

Suddenly, the sky burst open with a loud roar, drenching both of you and drowning out any other noises. You both pulled away from the kiss and started laughing. He smiled and took your hand, leading you back to his tent.

You both jumped into the tent, your clothes soaked, and he pulled you effortlessly into his lap. You looked down at him and stroked the scruff on his jaw while you heard the pounding of the rain thudding against the tent. His tongue invaded your mouth, and his hands were rough against your hips. You grabbed fistfuls of his wet locks as his lips moved down your throat. You breathed him in, his skin damp and earthy. The scent of shampoo lingered in his hair, a clean and crisp aroma that mixed with the natural, musky scent that clung to him.

"I don't think I can put into words how badly I want you right now," he murmured. The sensation of the rain pelting against the tent amplified his comment. His hands were everywhere, and a long moan escaped you as he grabbed your ass and leaned forward to bite the bottom of your lip.

Despite the storm raging outside, the inside of the tent felt like a storm had formed as well. You pulled his hot, wet lips back onto yours; his lips parted, and he let out a breathy moan into your mouth as you felt him straining against his pants. Your hands roamed his chest and shoulders, urging him closer as your tongues moved together more intensely. You felt your body ache just from kissing Logan.

You both knew this would change everything. But Logan didn’t hesitate to devour your cunt, taking you apart with his tongue and watching you collapse against his mouth—twice. He didn’t hesitate to bury himself deep inside you, and you didn’t hesitate to tighten hard around him as his release pulsed inside you—the catalyst for your next orgasm—as you whined his name, and he swallowed down your moans.

You went back to your tent before the other men came back and thought it would never happen again. It had clearly just been a release of all the pent-up emotions that had simmered under the surface.

But, whenever, you and Logan would find yourselves completely alone. It would lead to raw, passionate, and immaculate sex. And— you two simply never discussed it.

As the days turned into weeks, you both maintained a façade around the rest of the team. Whether it was sharing a meal in silence or exchanging knowing glances across a crowded room. But, in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, the barriers broke down. You would steal kisses and share whispered secrets under the stars, and it felt like a slice of normalcy in a life filled with chaos.

One evening, in a desolate part of Brazil, you and Logan found yourselves once again alone.

"Do you ever think about leaving?" you asked, as you sat cross-legged across from him. The fire crackled, and you could see the lines of worry etched on his face.

"What d’you mean?" Logan replied, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his chest. He was always so guarded; it was hard to read him.

"I mean… this life. Team X. Stryker," you said. "It’s chaotic. Dangerous. And we’re just playing with fire."

Logan shifted, his gaze intense as he leaned closer. "Y’think I don’t know that? I’ve seen what this life does to people. Hell, I’ve lived it." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his tone. “But it’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in the space between you. "I get it," you replied. "But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with it,"

He sighed, frustration flickering across his face. "I’m not okay with it either,"

Your heart raced as you weighed your next words, the unasked question clawing at your throat like a caged animal, desperate to be free.

You wanted to ask him if he would ever leave with you, to find something normal, something that felt real. But the fear gripped you tightly, a cold fist around your heart. What if he didn’t want that?

"Yeah," you murmured.

Logan's gaze softened, the firelight flickering shadows across his features. He leaned back slightly, the tension in his body easing just a fraction as he spoke. "If I did leave… I’d probably head up to the middle of nowhere," he said, his voice low and reflective, as if he were painting a picture only he could see. "Somewhere fuckin’ remote, away from everythin’…"

Your breath caught in your throat, the idea taking shape in your mind like a vivid dream. You could almost feel the crisp mountain air and hear the gentle rustle of trees swaying in the wind. Logan continued. "I’d find a cabin. Just be in the wilderness and shit. And just… enjoy the quiet."

You could sense the deep yearning in his voice, a longing for solace that mirrored your own. "That sounds… beautiful," You leaned forward, your chest pounding as you let the question slip out before you could second-guess yourself. "What’s stopping you?"

His gaze snapped back to you, sharp and searching. "It’s not that simple. I’ve been fightin’ for so long, I don’t think I know what peace looks like anymore."

He was quiet for a moment. "There are also things I can’t just leave behind. People…" His voice trailed off.

"Victor?" you ventured cautiously, knowing the complicated relationship he shared with his brother.

Logan sighed, running a hand over his face. "Yeah,"

You wanted to tell him that you would join him, but you were scared. A wave of fear washed over you. The fear of being hurt or rejected, and the fear of losing yourself in the intensity of your own emotions.

Logan’s expression shifted, uncertainty battling with something that resembled desire. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You’re so beautiful,"

You wanted to roll your eyes, scoff, or say something sarcastic, but you decided to accept the compliment. Because in this moment, you did feel beautiful, all thanks to him.

So, instead, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

And what you didn’t know at the time was that Logan meant you when he said he couldn’t leave people behind.

Logan stood listening intently as the briefing unfolded. Stryker’s voice droned on, outlining their next mission at the Diamond Facility like it was just another day at the office. But Logan knew better. He was tired of this life—the brutal missions, the high stakes—but more than that, he was weary of the people around him… including his own brother.

Victor's reckless abandon, fueled by a twisted sense of fun, constantly put everyone at risk. He thrived in the chaos, feeding off the violence like a parasite. It was unsettling to watch, especially when Victor's antics often came at the expense of others—innocents caught in the crossfire. Logan had always had a code, a sense of right and wrong that kept him grounded, but Victor and half the team didn’t seem to care.

This didn’t feel like a team—it just felt like a collection of broken pieces, each one more flawed than the last.

But then there was you.

You were different. You brought a lightness to his life that he hadn't realized he craved. You had a kindness that was refreshing in a world full of cruelty, and you understood the weight of your powers and the consequences they held.

As the conversation shifted to the mission, Logan felt a knot tightening in his gut. He could see the flickering holographic images of the Diamond Facility that was in an isolated valley.

"We go tomorrow," Stryker said, his tone flat. "There are villagers who are withholding information. If they don’t cooperate, we kill them."

Logan watched you take a deep breath, steeling yourself before speaking up. "Wait a minute," you said, challenging Stryker. "Killing innocent villagers isn’t what we signed up for. We can’t just… execute them for information. It’s wrong."

Agent Zero, leaning casually against the wall, scoffed. "What’s the matter, princess? This is the job. Besides, they’re just collateral damage."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shot back. "These are people, not fucking pawns on a chessboard. We’re not just some mercenaries for hire."

Wade leaned forward, his trademark grin fading. "Look, I get it. But sometimes, you’ve gotta make tough calls. It’s about the mission, babe,"

"It’s about the mission?" you echoed incredulously. "What about our conscience Wade?"

The back-and-forth continued, voices rising and falling as doubt crept into the conversation. Logan felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He watched as John, Fred, and Chris chimed in, each wrestling with their own moral compasses, caught between Stryker’s orders and your plea.

Stryker’s voice cut through the rising tension. "This isn’t up for discussion. You’ll follow orders, or you’ll face the consequences. You all know what I expect from you."

"But this isn’t right," you insisted.

Victor rolled his eyes. "You need to get your head in the game. This isn’t a fairy tale,"

Logan stepped forward, "Maybe it’s not a fairy tale, but it doesn’t have to be a nightmare either," His jaw tightened as he recalled the latest mission. The way Victor had tortured their enemy for information, the screams echoing in the alleyway—it was a sound that haunted Logan even now. He had stepped in to stop it, to remind Victor that they weren't animals, but it felt like he was shouting into a void.

"Look, Stryker," Logan began, his voice low but firm, "we can’t just steamroll over innocent lives because it’s convenient for us. There has to be another way. We can get the information we need without resortin’ to killin’ people."

Stryker’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Logan with irritation. "You’re a soldier, and you will follow orders."

"Maybe I’m tired of bein’ a fuckin’ soldier," Logan shot back, feeling the weight of his own frustration boil to the surface. "You think just because we have these mutations, we can play God?"

Agent Zero smirked, crossing his arms. "You’re sounding a lot like her, Logan. What’s next? You want to start a support group for these villagers? Maybe sing them a lullaby?"

Stryker’s jaw tightened. "Enough. You’re all going to the Diamond Facility tomorrow and you’ll do what needs to be done. That’s an order,"

The silence that followed was heavy, and he could feel the weight of his teammates’ uncertainty.

The world you lived in was anything but normal. Team X had its own set of rules and expectations, and the deeper Logan fell for you, the more he realized how much he had to lose.

As Logan stepped inside your tent later that night, he was met with an unexpected sight.

You were packing your things.

His stomach sank as he took in sight of you hurriedly stuffing clothes into your duffel bag, the fabric crumpling under your hurried movements. The flickering light from the small lantern cast shadows on your face, accentuating the tightness around your eyes, the way your brow was furrowed in concentration. He could feel an unsettling sense of dread creeping into his chest.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and cautious, as if he were approaching a wild animal. "What’s goin’ on?"

You paused, glancing up at him, and for a brief moment, the world outside the tent faded away. In that instant, he saw the conflict swirling in your eyes, the vulnerability that lay beneath your bravado. But then, you turned back to your packing, and his heart raced, sensing that something was deeply wrong.

"I’m leaving, Logan,"

"What d'you mean, leavin’?" he asked, trying to process the gravity of what you were saying. "You can’t just—"

"I can’t stay here anymore," you cut him off.

Logan felt a rush of emotions crash over him. The tent felt smaller, the air heavier, the shadows deeper. You were leaving?

"Wait. You can’t just leave. Not like this."

You paused, turning to face him fully. "Come with me. Let’s just get the hell out of here."

He shook his head, the words catching in his throat. "I can’t. I can’t just leave." He watched as your expression shifted, frustration flaring in your eyes.

"Why not?" you pressed, crossing your arms defensively, your stance challenging. “What’s stopping you?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, ready to spit out a dozen excuses, but the truth was, he didn’t have a good enough reason. The excuses rose to the surface, but they felt flimsy against the backdrop of your conviction. He thought of Victor, of Stryker, of the missions that had become his life. But none of it mattered in this moment.

"Cause’…" he began, but the words fell flat. He could see the disappointment in your eyes, the way your shoulders tensed, and it only made it worse.

“Because you’re a fucking coward,” you shot back, your voice sharp and cutting, slicing through the air between you.

"Coward?" he spat, incredulity mingling with anger. "You think I’m the coward here? You’re the one runnin’ away, leavin’ your team hangin’ when we’ve got a mission to fulfill! You can’t just pack up and fuckin’ bail because it’s gettin’ too tough for you."

"I’m not running away! I’m saving myself. I don’t want to be trapped in this cycle, Logan,"

Logan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "And you think leavin’ is going to change that? You think walkin’ away will make it all go away?"

You scoffed, your eyes blazing. "Staying here, fighting for a cause that doesn’t give a shit about me? Killing innocent people? No fucking thanks. I want to live, Logan. I want more than this."

"And what? You think you’ll find a better life out there? You think it’ll just be fuckin’ sunshine and rainbows, princess?" His voice rose, anger flaring.

He had never called you that before. He knew you hated it when the other men call you that.

"I don’t know! But I won’t find it here!" your voice breaking slightly.

His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. "And what bout’ us? You gonna throw everythin' away? All the shit we’ve been through? Just walk away and pretend it never happened? I thought we were friends."

Logan had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, never allowed anyone to breach the walls he had so carefully constructed around himself. But standing there, watching you pack your life away, he felt those walls begin to crack. The truth was, he didn’t want to admit that the person he was fighting for was you. You had become more than just a teammate.

"Us?" you echoed, the word heavy with unsaid implications. "I’m just the girl you fuck sometimes to pass the time."

Logan felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut, a visceral reaction that stemmed from a deep-seated frustration.

You looked away. "That’s what this was right? It was just sex,"

Logan felt a surge of anger bubble up inside him, but it was laced with a deep sense of hurt that he couldn’t quite shake off. He felt reduced to nothing more than a fleeting indulgence. He wanted to shout, to make you understand how much you meant to him—for more than just physical comfort. But the words stuck in his throat.

"Yeah, that’s just what this was," he replied bitterly, each word feeling like gravel in his throat. It was as if he were trying to convince himself more than you.

You flinched at his tone, the sharpness of it cutting deeper than he intended. He saw the way your shoulders slumped for a brief moment.

"You’re choosing to stay, Logan. You’re choosing this life. I’m just choosing to not be a part of it anymore."

As you zipped up the last of your belongings, Logan felt an ache in his chest, a desperate longing to reach out and pull you back. But he feared that if he did, he would only prove your point—that he was just another part of the cycle you were trying to escape.

Logan’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face coiling like springs. "I’m not gonna chase after you,"

“I never thought you would,” you said as the words slipped from your lips, tears spilling over, tracing silent paths down your cheeks.

As you moved past him and left your tent, Logan felt a piece of himself slip away, knowing he was letting you go for the sake of your own freedom—even if it meant shattering his own heart in the process.

3 Years Later – Canadian Rockies, Alberta

Colorful decorations adorned the walls—paper hearts and streamers crafted by your students added a festive touch to the otherwise ordinary space. As the day progressed, you noticed the usual chatter was punctuated by giggles and the rustling of paper bags filled with sweet treats. You were pleasantly surprised to find a small pile of candy grams waiting for you when you walked into class today. Each one was a colorful note adorned with stickers and heartfelt messages, reminding you of the appreciation your students had for you. You couldn’t wait to read them.

'Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same' was written on your chalkboard. Towards the end of class, you turned to your students, who were a mix of eager and disinterested faces, and posed the question, "What do you think this means?"

Your class had just finished reading the most recent chapter assigned for Wuthering Heights. A hand shot up from the back of the room. "When Catherine says this, I think it’s about finding someone who understands you, right? Like, two people who just click on a deeper level?"

"Exactly," you replied, nodding. "It suggests a connection that goes beyond the surface. It’s about shared experiences, emotions, and even struggles,"

Another student chimed in, "But what if those souls are different? Like, how can two people be the same if they have different backgrounds or personalities?"

"That’s a great point," you said, leaning against the desk. "It doesn’t mean they’re identical; it means they resonate with each other. Sometimes, two people can be completely different but still feel a profound connection,”

One girl in the front row raised her hand, "So, like, being connected on a spiritual level? Like, you just feel it?"

"Sure, something like that," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you. "It’s that unexplainable bond that can exist between people—friends, family, or even romantic partners. It’s a sense of familiarity and understanding that transcends words."

The lunch bell rang, signaling the end of class. "Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!" you called out cheerfully, watching as they gathered their things and exchanged giggles and good wishes. Some were already discussing their plans for the day, while others eagerly showed off their homemade cards and treats.

Just as you were about to tidy up the classroom, one of your students, a shy boy named Liam, approached you. He hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushed, before pulling a handmade card from his backpack.

"I, um, made this for you," he stammered, looking down at his feet. "I hope you have a nice day."

As Liam handed you the card, his cheeks turned a vibrant shade of crimson, and he quickly shuffled out of the classroom, mumbling a shy "Happy Valentine’s Day!" over his shoulder before darting through the door.

As you turned around to read Liam's card, you felt a light pressure against your back. Someone wrapped their arms around your waist, hooking their chin over your shoulder, and you could feel the warmth of their body against yours.

"Sounds like you got a secret admirer," a teasing voice chimed in, playful and slightly laced with jealousy.

"Just some sweet notes from my students for Valentine’s Day. It’s nothing,"

"Nothin’? C’mon, admit it. You love all that mushy stuff."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Maybe a little. It’s sweet. I never got stuff like this in high school from anyone,"

"Sweet, huh? You know what else is sweet?” you felt hands grip your ass to pull you as close as possible. "When that pretty little pussy was sittin’ on my face this mornin'..."

"Logan!" you shrieked at his vulgar words and turned around to playfully slap his chest.

It had taken Logan about thirty minutes after you had left the tent to realize that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life if he didn’t come after you. The night air was thick with the scent of pine and earth as Logan moved quickly through the shadows, his instincts guiding him like a compass. He followed the trail of your scent, an invisible thread that pulled him closer.

As he caught up with you, you had turned, surprise flickering across your features before it melted into something deeper.

Logan cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. The intensity in his gaze spoke volumes, the unspoken words lingering in the air. He leaned in, capturing your lips with his, a kiss that held the weight of all the things left unsaid.

When you finally pulled apart, the look in his eyes was fierce and tender all at once—a vow that transcended words. You felt the warmth of his palm slide into yours, fingers intertwining like roots growing together, and a new path unfolded before you. Together, you stepped forward into the unknown.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months as you travelled the world together. Each destination was a chapter in a story that felt like it had been waiting to be written. In the canyons of Petra, Logan whispered those three precious words in your ear for the first time—and fed you his cock beneath the vast expanse of stars.

You both learned that over the years, Team X had slowly been killed off. Including Victor. And apparently, Stryker had died in some bad mutant facility experimentation gone wrong.

You finally felt safe. So, eventually, the allure of a quieter life called to you, and you found yourselves drawn to a quaint town in Alberta. The cabin you chose felt like a piece of the dream you had both imagined—a sanctuary nestled among towering trees, where the air was fresh and the pace was gentle. The walls of your cabin bore witness to quiet mornings, shared meals, and the comfort of just being together. You had found a rhythm in teaching and Logan had found steady work at the lumberyard.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Didn’t hear you complainin’ much," his lips slotted over yours urgently. “In fact, you were beggin’ for it… and makin’ a mess all over my cock."

You carded your fingers through his hair and pulled your lips from his to sprinkle kisses down his jaw. You loved it when Logan stopped by randomly in the middle of the workday to say a quick hello—or do other things in the privacy of your classroom.

Logan cleared his throat. "So, I know originally we were gonna cook at home… but I actually booked a reservation someplace outside of town,"

Your eyes widened. "You’re trying to celebrate Valentine’s Day?"

He scoffed, a low rumble in his chest. "No, I’m just tryna eat some damn good food," his trademark scowl firmly in place. "and it happens to be on this commercialized fuckin’ day," he grumbled, fighting against the urge to admit how much he enjoyed having you as his Valentine year after year.

You gave him a fake pout. "That’s too bad. I was going to try and wear something special underneath the new dress I bought for tonight, but I guess, I won’t."

You always bought these sexy little numbers for this silly holiday. Last year it was some purple, lacy lingerie outfit that was basically see through. Your perfect breasts and your pretty pussy had been available for his eyes to devour. The outfit had lasted approximately three minutes before he ripped it off with his claws. So maybe he did like this holiday.

"Oh, you’re gonna play it like that, huh?" he grumbled, his voice a low growl, though it lacked the bite he usually intended.

You shrugged biting your bottom lip.

"You keep tauntin’ me, and I might just have to take you right here," he said through gritted teeth, grabbing your jaw. You whimpered when his mouth crashed down on yours, slipping his tongue past your teeth, and your fingers tightening around his neck.

"Missed you," you managed to whisper between kisses. You felt crazy saying that—you had seen him a few hours ago. It was only noon.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, and you could see the way his pupils dilated. "Missed you too," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips.

"Logan, did you ever imagine that this would be your life?" you suddenly asked, almost sounding drunk. He had that effect on you. "Planning to go to a Valentines Day dinner?" you added with a shit-eating grin.

He paused, letting the question sink in, but not before rolling his eyes at you. "Honestly? No." He shook his head. “But I’m glad it is. You, me, our life here—it’s everything I didn’t know I needed. You've shown me what peace looks like, sweetheart,”

Things had changed so much in just a few years. It was all a far cry from the chaos that used to define him. But you were the one constant in this new life, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Tears began to cloud your vision, and he pulled you in for a tender kiss.

"Hey," he murmured against your lips, "I almost forgot."

You raised an eyebrow, curious.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, its edges slightly crumpled from being tucked away. "Here," he said, extending it towards you. "Somethin’ for you. You can add it to your little collection on your desk,"

"My collection?"

"Yeah, all those sappy notes from your students and whatnot,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you’d appreciate another one."

"You wrote me a note?" you asked, as you carefully grabbed the envelope.

He grunted softly, his arms encircling you. "Yeah, well, don’t go makin’ a big deal out of it,"

Just as you were about to open the envelope, a soft knock echoed through the classroom. You exchanged a glance with Logan, who raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of playful annoyance at the interruption.

"Come in!" you called.

The door creaked open, revealing a student standing in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Howlett," the student stammered, their gaze darting between you and Logan. "I didn’t realize you weren’t alone. I just wanted to talk to you about PSAT prep quickly."

Logan shot you a knowing look, his lips curling into a sly grin. "That’s okay," he replied smoothly, his tone casual. "I was just bout’ to head back to work anyway." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your wedding ring, before pulling away.

You kissed his cheek and quickly redirected your focus to the student. "No problem at all! We can talk about that right now. What do you need help with?"

As the student stepped further into the room, Logan shot you a wink before slipping out the door.

That night when your husband picked you up for your date—you two were late for dinner. You gave Logan a sneak peek of what was underneath your dress. His note had gotten you hot and bothered…

A/N: If you can't read the letter cause of the cursive, it says: I'm not the most eloquent writer, so I thought I would borrow a few words from Shakespeare. 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.' Baby, I’m terrible with words. But, I hope you know that my feelings for you are unwavering. You are my refuge, my strength, and my reason to keep fighting. No matter what changes may come our way, my love for you remains steadfast. -Logan

No pressure tagging folks that signed up for Loveuary / some moots / origins!logan girlies: @princessanglophile. @flowersforbucky. @slushycoookie. @buck-star. @rosenclaws. @themareverine. @mcrdvcks. @eupheme. @lostinlovingrevery. @hellfire10005. @logaenhowlett. @eloquentlytired. @cryptictongues. @logansbaby. @healmydesires. @pandapetals. @steviebbboi. @coocoocachewgotscrewed. @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully. @sidkneeeee @absxntmxnded. @cyberdva. @retrosabers. @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes. @marvlstark. @mina2000alex. @coffeecigsandcommentary. @pastelpinkflowerlife. @tomhockstetter7-111. @my-mind-is-incognito. @silversprings-mp3. @mostly-marvel-musings. @unlikeable-female-character. @marshmallowmusing. @the3mrskory. @sleepycevans. @lostinlovingrevery. @lostfleurs. @shybluebirdninja. @botensbabygirl. @undeadfly. @gallifreyansass. @moonpascaltoo. @starabellaa. @1800-fight-me.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett imagine #logan howlet smut

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pandapetals · 26 days ago

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

*relationship hcs written with fem!reader in mind*

contains: a little bit of everything. some relationship fluff, a bit of angst (mentions of death and past trauma), very flirty and filthy logan, 18+ CONTENT AT THE BOTTOM. MINORS DNI (body worship, praise kink, pain kink, dirty talk to the nines.)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: not me posting something for the first time in a) over a month and b) in 2025 😍😍

it’s been ROUGH in the brain and writing department for me, and this is the best i could come up with right now. i hope i can get back in my real groove soon, i miss writing real bad.

in the mean time, please enjoy my wolvie brain dump. feel free to share any of your own personal hcs in the comments or reblogs!!

GENERAL/PERSONALITY:

he’s secret tea drinker. always drinks coffee (no cream no sugar; nasty ass) in the morning but also drinks tea at night. though nothing can fully calm him down in the evening, the tea does relax him in some capacity, and logan takes whatever reprieve he can get. plus it was one of the first things you started doing together, so it’s become a part of his routine he can’t be without.

typically the first person up, and the last person in bed. you’d think logan wouldn’t be a morning person, but he’s surprisingly at ease in the early hours. as relaxed as someone like him could get, anyways.

likes to read a lot. he was in complete awe of the mansion’s library the first time he saw it. will often sneak in when no one’s around and read for an hour or two by the window if he’s got the time. when you discover he’s a secret bookworm, you start to leave a book on his desk that you think he’ll enjoy every once in a while. it’s a small gesture logan holds very near and dear to his heart.

can’t remember people’s birthdays or important dates to save his life BUT can recall something minor in a fleeting conversation from a long time ago. also remembers very random useless facts that have actually come in handy on more than one occasion.

if and when logan sleeps, he snores. so. fucking. LOUD, to the point where it can wake people up depending on how close quarters are. he denies it constantly.

likes to make sure his deodorant and cologne have the same general scent (i just know he smells like a sexy ass manly man URGH).

a lot of people hc him as a history professor but i have a hot take: gym teacher logan. not in the typical “let’s run laps and play dodgeball” way, but in the sense that he teaches the kids how to control and utilize their mutations to their advantage (with help from the rest of the xmen of course), and maybe even some light sparring to practice self defense. i personally just don’t see the history teacher thing working out because i fear he would subconsciously be reliving a LOT of trauma.

gets really anxious whenever someone is sick or injured. he’s been gravely reminded before that not everyone is indestructible like he is, and it scares him to see others get hurt in any capacity, because he’s terrified of losing them. the first time you get seriously wounded on a mission? logan damn near wears his boots down to the sole from pacing back and forth outside the medbay so much. he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he can’t focus on anything other than you. time stops for him; and won’t resume until he’s certain you’re going to be okay.

legitimately purrs like a cat if you scratch his head just the right way. he will once again deny this until the end of time, but with less resistance and a much more flushed complexion.

“whatever,” he mumbles into your stomach, while guiding your nails back to his scalp.

hates ANY music made after the year 2000, but anything before that he’s pretty keen on. he’s got his preferences for sure (a little country, some rock, and maybe a bit of bluegrass), but isn’t above admitting that a pop tune is a little catchy from time to time.

IN A RELATIONSHIP:

you better not even THINK about ever opening a door for yourself ever again because if you do he’s taking personal offense to it.

he may be a slut in the sheets but he’s a near perfect gentlemen in the streets. i’m talking walking on the outside of the sidewalk at all times, always helping you out of the car even if you don’t need it, carrying your jacket or shoes after a night out, making sure you’re obscured from view if you need to adjust a revealing top; any chivalrous boyfriend thing you can think of, and he’s done it. with suaveness, might i add.

“here honey, gimme that, i got it.”

“hold on a second sweetheart, your strap’s all twisted.”

the definition of “you fell first but he fell harder.”

makes it a point to take you on a “real date” outside the mansion once or twice a month because he knows how much you enjoy getting dressed up for different occasions. whether that be dinner, dancing (yes, if you beg hard enough he’ll go dancing with you), and maybe even a trip to the museum or planetarium.

both the big and little spoon, it depends on the day, but he’s an insane cuddler either way. a human teddy bear for you and only you. this? he won’t deny, not for a second. and he’ll tell anyone who cares to tease him about it to fuck off.

always touching you in some capacity. a gentle caress on the back of your neck, or cold palms sliding underneath your sweater, logan has no qualms about being a bit handsy.

“if your girl looked like this, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her either.”

his favorite (and yours too secretly) is a hand in the back pocket of your jeans. there’s something equally sweet and sultry about it that makes your stomach flutter every time. a slightly possessive gesture, that when coupled with a cocky smirk and a shameless squeeze, never fails to drive you wild.

you thought he was a worry wart about your safety before you were dating? it amplifies by a million when you’re together, almost to the point of annoyance because he’s adamant on not letting you out of his sight. eventually after a few arguments and a scolding from charles, you remind him that you’re perfectly capable of handling things on your own, and yes, sometimes he does need to look out for you, just in case.

SMUT:

handsy logan = body worship logan. this man will make it his life mission to appreciate every single inch of your body. he doesn’t care if you’re tangled in between sheets for hours on end. you’re not leaving the bed until you know just how much he’s smitten with every part of you.

pain kink king who will cum significantly faster if you break skin with your nails raking down arms or back. gets an immediate hard on when you slap him in the middle of a dangerously intense argument, and implores you to do it again in a dark, lust driven tone.

to make up for the fact that you can’t mark your territory, with logan’s regenerative capabilities and all, he goes above and beyond to mark his. this man leaves hickies everywhere, and i mean everywhere. your hip bones, your navel, damn near the entirety of your sternum, your neck essentially a human canvas that he gladly paints in brilliant hues of lavender.

he may be a man of few words with most, but with you? logan can never shut the fuck up about how good you make him feel.

“look at you. doin’ so good for me honey.” “y’feel like fuckin’ heaven, you know that?” “my perfect girl. made just for me.”

cannot handle when you return the favor. immediately shoves his flushed face into whatever part of your body he can find and picks up the pace. praise is another surefire way to get logan to blow his load in record time. he thinks it’s a little embarrassing but you think it’s SO HOT.

loves a good tummy bulge OOP who said that

really enjoys sex in the shower or bath. there’s an additional layer of intimacy with it that makes logan particularly warm in the chest. will often suggest round two in the bathroom so he not only has the pleasure of ruining you again, but helping gently put you back together with a tenderness reserved only for you.

the ceo of teasing. loves to watch you get all flustered and squirmy so you best believe he’s teasing the fuck out of you any chance he gets. logan’s got wandering hands and a filthy mouth and that he uses to his advantage both in and out of the bedroom.

“what if i bent you over this desk, right here right now, hm? would you like that?”

“your skirt’s real pretty baby. think it would look a lot better on the floor of my room.”

“been thinkin’ about you all day. gonna let me fuck you real good later?”

aftercare is a learning curve. he’s not completely careless the first time you have sex, but he’s not as caring and attentive as he knows he probably should be. logan was used to quick one night stands, not getting intimate with someone he had romantic feelings for. once he realizes how in-deep he is with you, he takes the time to learn the ins and outs of true aftercare.

* for more smut headcanons, check out my logan nsfw alphabet here*

thanks for reading! <3

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett

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